Graveyard Scene revised
by BlueOrchid2
Summary: What if, instead of simply defending himself, Harry questioned Voldemort in the graveyard at the end of the Triwizard Tournament? Voldemort/Harry, Twoshot
1. Chapter 1

I suddenly got this impulse to re-read the graveyard scene in the Goblet of Fire, and I was like: _oh my God, I didn't remember that Voldemort was SO COOL! _He's like terrible and sensual all at the same time, and not in the least insane! …or well, not as much as in the last book…

And so obviously, I absolutely had to write a new short story, even though I have dozens of others still in the works :D

**Pairing:** Voldemort/Harry

**Summary:** In the graveyard at the end of fourth year, Harry asks Voldemort why he wants to kill him so much, and the answer he gets changes his whole life.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. There are some phrases in here that come straight from the books Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and The Prisoner of Azkaban though.

* * *

Wormtail had just given him back his wand, and Voldemort softly said, almost gently:

"You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?"

And Harry thought back to the Duelling Club in second year, and how the only spell he had learned was Expelliarmus, and how powerful Voldemort was, coming back from the dead, and creating a new arm for Wormtail from nothing, and making Harry want to die after only a few seconds under the Cruciatus curse. And this time there wasn't his mother there to die for him, this time Voldemort could touch him without repercussions, and he was injured already and they were surrounded by thirty something Death Eaters, and he was going to have a panic attack soon, very, very soon.

"W-why?" Harry stammered, terror almost overwhelming him.

"Why? Why what, Harry Potter?"

"W-why do you want to kill me? I-I mean, you said it yourself, i-it was my mother who made you lose your body when I was a baby, a-and in first year, w-with Quirrell, it was you who told him to attack me, and I o-only touched you because I was trying to defend myself!" and Harry now didn't see Voldemort's amused expression, listening to his rant with cold red eyes glinting in the darkness, he forgot his surroundings, and all his doubts and questions that no one had ever answered when he asked where spilling from his lips. He didn't even spare a single bitter thought that it may very well be Voldemort, his greatest enemy, who finally answered his questions:

"Why did you try to kill me when I was a baby, w-why do you continue coming after me? I only ever wanted to be normal! But no, I have to be a freak and a Parseltongue, and have the greatest wizard of the last century out for my blood a-and…"

"Silence!" Voldemort hissed, and Harry's mouth snapped shut immediately in the face of the Dark Lord's wrath.

"Repeat that."

"W-what?"

"You said that you are a Parseltongue."

"Y-yeah," Harry answered confused, his hand grasping his wand even tighter at Voldemort's piercing stare, but continuing nonetheless, trying to gather back the same courage which had made him start questioning Voldemort in the first place, "I-I found out in second year, when the Chamber of Secrets w-was opened. Everyone thought that I was the Heir of Slytherin an-"

"The Chamber was opened?" Voldemort snapped, the fury in his eyes making Harry almost step back, "by whom?"

"Y-your diary…"

And then Harry was on his knees, clutching his forehead and trying to breath, to think through the agony in his scar, and he heard screams, his own and one of the Death Eaters', who was begging for mercy. And finally, thankfully, the pain grew too much, and Harry descended into blissful unconsciousness.

* * *

When he came to, Harry was still lying in the same position, and he was still surrounded by Death Eaters, but Malfoy, his long blond hair peeking out from his hood, was lying across from him, his body wracked by uncontrollable spasms despite being unconscious. Voldemort was pacing restlessly in front of him, left to right and back again, twirling his wand in nervousness, and what Harry's befuddled brain almost thought was fear.

Hearing Harry's pained groan, Voldemort suddenly swirled around and looked at him with his piercing red eyes and an unsettled expression. After a few moments, he seemed to come to a decision, and approached the child lying on the ground. The Death Eaters sucked in a breath, and Harry scrabbled for his wand, which had fallen from his fingers. But Voldemort didn't curse him, and instead knelt by his side, and hissed to him:

_"Harry… promise me… swear on your life and magic that you will never try to kill me, never vanquish me, and I will let you go… I'll never try to hurt you again if you do..."_

_"B-but why?" _Harry answered back in Parseltongue, and Voldemort flinched, as if he hadn't really believed that Harry could talk to snakes, _"w-why me? H-how could I kill you? I'm only fourteen! I don't have the power, nor the knowledge t-to be able to even hurt you!"_

_"Ah, but Harry dear, that is where you are wrong," _Voldemort continued patiently, not fazed at all by the fact that he was kneeling on the ground in the middle of a cemetery, whispering in Parseltongue to his greatest enemy and surrounded by Death Eaters, _"before you were born, a prophecy was made, on a child that was going to be born at the end of July. A child who had the power to vanquish me…"_

_"A-a prophecy..." _Harry stared at the man in front of him, uncomprehendingly. And then suddenly, a memory came to the front of his mind: one year ago he had told Dumbledore of Trelawney's prediction on Wormtail, when the Headmaster had flippantly said the phrase: 'That brings her total of real predictions up to two.'

Harry looked up at Voldemort's white face, so close to him, his red eyes hard and staring fixedly at him, dissecting him with his gaze. In a very small voice, Harry whispered:

_"Who made the prophecy?"_

Voldemort frowned, clearly not expecting that question and answered: "A woman named Sybill Trelawney. Dumbledore hired her as a Divination professor back then, and smartly forbid her from ever leaving the castle's premises."

"N-no…" Harry stammered, completely horrified.

"No? No what, child? Well? Speak up!"

"H-he knew… last year I told Dumbledore that she had made a prediction that came true, and he told me that it was her second one! He knew that there was one that talked about me, and he never even told me!" Harry realised that he had sat up and was yelling, and that the Death Eaters were all staring at him, trying to understand what was going on, but Harry was now beyond caring. All the pain, and the fear and the grief that he had felt this last year, and especially the last few hours, had accumulated and were now coming to a head, and he really couldn't take it anymore. He turned around, giving his back to Voldemort and breathing deeply to calm himself.

After a few minutes, when he had finally stopped panting and his heartbeat has gone back to a relatively normal pace, he looked up. The snake, Nagini she was called if he remembered correctly, was staring at him curiously from a few meters in front of him. He could feel the weight of Voldemort's stare on the back of his head, but he disregarded it for the moment. Looking into the snake's intelligent eyes, peering at him in curiousity, he suddenly took a decision. He knew perfectly well that he was being impulsive, but he was sick of having other people decide for him, he was sick of other people piling impossible expectations on top of him. He was only fourteen! They rewarded him every time he escaped yet another lethal confrontation, and did nothing to prevent the next one. So, he finally decided to be selfish for a moment, to do something for himself, not matter how cowardly and un-Gryffindorish it was. Dammit he had almost been sorted in Slytherin! And for the first time in his life, he accepted that part of him, and swirling around on his knees he looked Voldemort straight in the eyes. He picked up his wand, and pointed it towards the sky, before proclaiming in a loud voice that rang across the silent graveyard, and was heard clearly by all those in attendance:

"I, Harry James Potter, swear on my life and my magic that I will never try to kill or vanquish Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as the Dark Lord Voldemort, unless in self defence. So mote it be."

"So mote it be," Voldemort murmured in response, and a white glow surrounded the two of them, before sinking into their skin and disappearing. At the two now ex-enemies stared at each other in silence for a moment, before Voldemort suddenly threw his head back and laughed, a full, belly deep joyous laugh that ringed through the graveyard, and shocked the Death Eaters even more than Potter's vow had.

And Harry, seeing at his nemesis laughing in mirth, looking so human despite his inhuman features, was finally completely convinced that, for once in his life, he had done exactly the right thing.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Squeeeee! Your reviews made me smile and feel all warm inside! 3

I'm sorry that it's not going to be a longer story, but I have loads of other projects already in the works, and when I wrote this I was thinking about taking their relationship real slow, but it sort of ran away from me… so I simply left it like this though I don't like it all that much, and if someone wants to adopt it and continue it, just tell me and I'll post a link to your story :)

The section marked with * is taken almost word by word from the book Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

* * *

When he finally stopped laughing, Voldemort quickly organized Harry's return to Hogwarts. Harry grabbed Cedric's arm, grief curling in his stomach when he saw his open sightless eyes. Harry also felt guilty for the fact that he didn't feel any remorse about having cowardly sworn his neutrality in the upcoming war. Sighing, he reached for the Triwizard Cup, when a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned around and found himself face-to-collarbone with the Dark Lord (and damn his short stature!). Voldemort raised his free hand, and gently brushed it down his cheek. Surprised at the tender-possessive gesture, Harry blinked up at the Dark Lord in confusion, and vaguely realised that his scar was only prickling a bit, despite their closeness. Maybe it was the lack of negative emotions behind the touch? But Harry's thoughts were soon derailed when Voldemort leaned in and hissed in his ear, hot breath tickling his face:

_"Harry… did you know, that from the moment the Goblet of Fire spat out your name, you became a legal adult? And after all, three Ministry officials made you participate in an adult-only tournament… you just have to hire a solicitor if someone tries to deny you your rights, little Harry…"_

Harry stared at Voldemort in shock: why had no one told him about this? And why was _Voldemort _of all people telling him? Smirking in genuine amusement, the Dark Lord flicked his wand, and the Cup sailed in Harry's hand. The last thing the green eyed boy heard before being whisked away was:

_"We'll meet again Harry Potter… soon, very soon…"_

* * *

Later that night Harry was sitting in Dumbledore's office, Sirius' hand on his shoulder and Fawkes on perched on his lap, and was recounting the events of that night:

*"He said the protection my – my mother left in me – he'd have it, too. And he was right – he could touch me without hurting himself, he touched my face."

For a fleeting instant, Harry thought he saw a gleam of something like triumph in Dumbledore's eyes, though it was gone a second later.

"Very well," Dumbledore said, sitting down again. "Voldemort has overcome that particular barrier. Harry, continue, please." *

And Harry was suddenly consumed by a wave of bitter anger once again. He was tired and wounded, and here Dumbledore was calmly insisting that he be told everything immediately, when he didn't even have the courtesy to tell Harry the bare facts necessary for his survival. He stared at the Headmaster with an icy gaze, and said:

"And then I swore."

Confusion marred the face of the two men, disconcerted by Harry's sudden change in demeanour.

"Pup? What do you mean, you swore?"

Harry answered evenly, still staring coldly at Dumbledore:

"I swore on my life and on my magic that I would never kill or vanquish Voldemort."

Albus Dumbledore paled so much that Harry for a fleeting moment thought that the old man was going to have a stroke. Trembling, the Headmaster stared at the boy in front of him with wide eyes, and whispered:

"H-Harry… what have you done?"

"Well, Headmaster, I saved my life and made sure that I couldn't become your weapon in this war, obviously. If you had had the decency to inform me that there was a prophecy on me out there, maybe the outcome would have been different."

Harry stood up, and squeezing a confused Sirius' shoulder, he headed towards the door. He was almost outside the office, when he suddenly turned around, and looked back at the stricken face of the Headmaster.

"Oh, and Professor? I now that I'm a legal adult now, so there is no way that I will be returning to the Dursley's."

And he walked away, leaving two dumbstruck adults behind.

* * *

Harry spent the last week of school in the infirmary, where he was barraged at least once a day with Dumbledore's requests that he go to the Dursley's. Thankfully, he had followed Voldemort's advice –and wasn't that a weird thought!- and contacted a solicitor by owl, who had confirmed that he was in fact a legal adult, and Dumbledore had no right to order him around anymore.

Hermione instead spent the time fussing on why he didn't trust the Headmaster anymore. For once in his life, Harry was glad about Madam Pomfrey's strict rules, seeing as she was the only one who managed to kick everyone out of the infirmary when it got too much.

As for Ron… well that was a depressing, infuriating topic. The moment Harry told his friends what had happened in the graveyard, and that he had sworn to never fight Voldemort, at least not personally, Ron had abandoned him _again, _saying that he was a cowardly, traitorous snake -or something similar… he wasn't really paying attention at that point- and that he was going Dark and was going to let them all die because of his selfishness.

Merlin, but wasn't it enough that he had lost both his parents to the war? His mother and him had given the Wizarding world 13 years free of Voldemort! Why did everyone pretend even more from him? Sighing heavily, Harry boarded the Hogwarts Express, Hermione in tow. They spent the journey chatting and reading, but the atmosphere was strained: Harry's vow -his cowardice, as everyone liked to remind him- had erected an invisible barrier between them, and Hermione simply didn't know how to treat him anymore. Which, in turn, drove Harry up the wall because, really? When had he ever expressed the will to fight openly against Voldemort? In first year, they had thought Snape was the bad guy, and in second year he hadn't even known who opened the Chamber. And when else had they talked about war? Even if they had, he was still only fourteen! Did people, his closest friends especially, really expect him to take a stand at his age?

The train finally arrived at King's Cross, and Harry hurried off with a hasty goodbye, not wanting to be in Hermione's presence one minute more. It was a good thing too, because he managed to slip beneath Mrs. Weasley's notice. Probably urged by Dumbledore to guilt-trip him into staying at the Dursley's or at least the Burrow for the summer, if the way she was scanning the crowd almost desperately was any indication. Harry hurried towards the Floo, intent on getting away as fast as possible. He had at first thought about staying in Muggle London close to Diagon Alley, but he later changed idea when he realised that most likely the Dursleys would be waiting for him on the other side of the barrier. Harry arrived to the fireplace and was reaching out for the Floo powder, when someone grabbed him from behind. He didn't even have time to panic, and he was being squished on all sides, a horrible sensation as if he was being pressed by a rubber tube and he couldn't breath anymore.

It finally ended, and Harry collapsed on his knees, gulping huge breaths of air and blinking back tears. Shaking his head, the dizziness finally passed, and he looked up for the first time. Lucius Malfoy was standing beside him, waiting patiently for Harry to get his bearings back.

"Mr. Potter, follow me. The Dark Lord wishes to see you."

Harry blinked in shock, and scrambled to his feet. They were in front of a large Manor house, practically a palace, done in an airy Gothic style. Harry gaped: the Dursleys had almost never brought him on their trips, so he hadn't seen much of the world, and this house could have very well been a museum or national monument.

Looking around, he noticed that they were surrounded by hills and forests, and there was no road or other house in sight. Sighing, Harry followed Lucius inside, gaping at the opulence of the place. Malfoy made an irritated sound at his loitering, but refrained from commenting, and let Harry admire the view in peace.

Malfoy finally knocked on an ornate door and, at his Master's permission, brought Harry inside. Voldemort was sitting at the desk, doing paperwork and, after a brief glance, waved Harry to the sofa in front of the fireplace, while Lucius left. Harry left his trunk by the door, and the moment he had sat down, a house-elf popped in, scaring him shitless, and served him some tea. Harry fidgeted a bit at the silence, before staring blatantly at Voldemort. Or should he say Tom Riddle? He didn't look scaly anymore… he looked like his sixteen year old diary had, only with red eyes and in his twenties… and why in the world was he so young? Shouldn't he be in his seventies? Late sixties?

Voldemort signed the last paper with a flourish, and stood up. He stared at the boy on the sofa for a moment, before sitting down next to him.

Harry jumped: why was Voldemort sitting next to him? There was a perfectly comfortable armchair on the other side of the coffee table! And he was way, way too close. Their legs were touching, and Harry was surprised to notice that the Dark Lord was warm. Well, he didn't look like a snake anymore, so maybe he wasn't cold-blooded? Harry almost snickered: yes he was! Cruel and sadistic and heartless and waaaay to close… Voldemort had leaned down towards him, and Harry shrank back against the arm of the couch, till Voldemort was almost pinning him down. Their bodies barely touched, and the Dark Lord trailed a finger gently over his scar. Harry moaned: the pain had been completely replaced by pleasure. Voldemort's soft touch evoked the same sensations that Harry felt when wanking.

"Yes, little Harry. I see it now… you are mine, aren't you? And Dumbledore knew…"

Voldemort studied the boy underneath him: his face was flushed and he was trembling under his finger, biting his lip to stop the whimpers from escaping. Voldemort gently lay his whole body on top of Harry, pinning him underneath him and pressing him against the couch. Harry trembled harder, and looked up into the red eyes above him. The Dark Lord slowly lowered his head, giving Harry ample time to move away, and they lips met. Soft and pliant, Harry's lips parted as he gasped, and Voldemort inserted his tongue in his mouth. He had intended to take it slow, but Harry grasped his robes, pulling him even closer, and returned the kiss enthusiastically. Voldemort groaned and gripped the boy's hair with one hand, tilting his head for a better angle. The other hand he splayed on the teen's back, before trailing lower.

Harry's breath hitched when Voldemort's hand caressed his ass, and he squirmed, torn between liking it and wanting it to stop. All thoughts disappeared though when Voldemort started trailing kisses down his neck, sucking on his skin, and nibbling, intent on leaving a mark, staking his claim on the boy. The hand that had been tugging his hair was now on his scar, and Harry began shaking, the urge to come becoming overwhelming. The Dark Lord smirked against his neck at a particularly breathless moan, and trailed back to his ear. Hot breath against the side of his face, and Voldemort was whispering sinfully in Parseltongue in the boy's ear:

"_Do you feel it, my little beauty? This connection between us? I can make you come with one finger alone, I don't even have to undress you… oh but how I want to see you naked anyway… spread on my bed, silk sheets caressing your body, and dark hair spread like a halo on the pillow. My pretty little boy… I'll chain you to the bed and have my way with you whenever I want… or maybe I'll take you against a wall? Oh there are so many beautiful alternatives… we'll try them all, my Harry, don't you fret…"_

And Harry was coming harder than he had ever come, his cock untouched, and those sinful fingers still caressing his forehead and sending shots of pleasure down his spine. He lay panting on the sofa, not even noticing when Voldemort picked him up and carried him bridal style to another room. He was gently lowered on silk sheets, and blinking back his befuddlement, finally noticed that Voldemort had carried him to a bedroom. Looking at the Dark Lord's predatory lust-filled gaze, he gulped: the night had just begun.


End file.
